Email Me
by kittykittyhunter
Summary: Muggles are confusing.
1. At the Ticket Barrier

Dedicated to TeamGredAndForge.

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><p><strong>EMAIL ME<strong>

_~ kittykittyhunter ~_

_**...**  
><em>

Chapter One

**At the Ticker Barrier**_  
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><p>Standing with his chin cupped in one hand, James watched his family disappear through the ticket barrier. First went his father, accompanying Lily. Then there was his mother, striding through with Albus. James straightened, giving a prolonged stretch – he needed to join the hoard of Potters on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, but, having repeated the process four years in a row, the adolescent boy admitted that seeing the scarlet train had lost some of its novelty.<p>

It was probably best to run. James squared his shoulders, readied his feet – he was marching – trotting –

"What are you doing?"

_Crash_. The handle slipped from James' fingers and the trolley supporting his trunk smashed into the ticket barrier – James whirled, and to his horror, realised he had forgotten to check for Muggles before approaching the platform. A girl with long hair and dark eyes was staring; she was wearing a coat and hat, even though the September day was warm.

"Nothing," said James awkwardly. He glanced over his shoulder. "Should probably go get that..." When the girl didn't reply, James retrieved the trolley. Right; _this_ time he would be careful. He screened the area, making sure that no one was watching –

The girl was still standing there.

"Uh…"

He could not think of a single, tactful way to say 'Go away'. If he didn't get a move on, the Hogwarts Express would leave without him – or worse, his mother's head would suddenly materialise out of the barrier, and the Muggle would have her memory modified. Aunt Hermione would know what to do, James fumed, she had a spell or enchantment for _every_ occasion…

The girl extended her fingers, saying her name. Before he knew what he was doing, the boy shook the gloved hand, introducing himself. "James Sirius Potter."

Her pupils dilated – James fought back the urge to swear. "Sirius…" she breathed. "Your middle name is a _star_?"

Something shuddered in the pit of his stomach.

"Yeah," he nodded, "that's right."

For as long as he could remember, James had experienced various reactions when meeting new people – the most prominent was, "Ah, _Harry's_ boy!" Occasionally, older wizards and witches would chuckle: "Another James Potter!" Once, a crowd emerging from Knockturn Alley sneered. But never…

She checked her watch, bit her lip and glanced up. "I used to love studying space," she explained. "Up until Year 10, I even wanted to work for NASA! But then we got this _dumb_ Physics teacher, and I'm so angry – honestly, he's made me _hate_ Science. I don't even know what I want to do anymore."

"Heh." James ran a hand through his untidy hair. He was perplexed by just how _little_ he had understood. "Everyone takes Astronomy at… my school."

He had almost blurted 'Hogwarts'.

She brightened. "Really? That's amazing! Are you guys in the countryside?"

"Not exactly," he shrugged, "it's considered – important. We do other stuff too, obviously – you know, History, uh," he racked his brain for another 'normal' subject, "and Herb… studies. It's kind of –"

"– Random," she finished. "Academies get all the fun."

"Right."

She shifted her weight, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. Her gaze flicked to James' trunk. "Were you on holiday?" she asked. "I can't believe summer's over – we didn't even get to go anywhere this year: I've had so much _revision_ to do. Thing is, I did horribly on my Maths modules and I've got an RE retake as well – my parents are super strict – oh wow," she flushed. "I sound thick."

James was vaguely aware that he was grinning and hastened to wipe the smile from his face. "You don't," he said, unconvincingly. She raised an eyebrow. "This," he continued, indicating his luggage, "is for school."

She checked her watch again. "Sorry! You have to catch your train… everyone says that I never shut up…" She laughed. "I think they're right." She went onto her toes – James stepped back – the girl was peering past him, over his shoulder. "Is that your dad?"

It couldn't be anyone else. "Yeah."

"You'd better go." She punched his bicep lightly – James blinked – "Can't miss the start of term," she sang, "it's GCSE year! Here," she shrugged the bag off her shoulder, rummaging through its contents – out came a yellow notebook. The girl tore off her left glove, produced a pen and scribbled something, then ripped out the page, handing it to James. "Email me. Have a good term!"

Then she waved and left.

James looked down at the sheet. It smelt like banana. Her handwriting was messy – she'd written her name, followed by numbers, then a symbol and… some kind of institution? Sensing his father a few steps behind him, James turned.

"It's still there?"

"Just about," said Harry. James couldn't quite describe his father's expression. "We wondered where you were… Ron and I missed the train in our second year. We ended up flying an old Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow."

The boy pressed his knuckles to his forehead and forced a laugh. "That screams of Grandpa."

They walked through the barrier.

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><p>I think James Potter should end up, eventually, with a Muggle. XD<p>

She's deliberately nameless.


	2. A Lesson in the Owlery

This story was meant as a oneshot, but it felt unfinished. Enjoy_~  
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><p>Chapter Two<p>

**A Lesson in the Owlery  
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><p>The first week back passed so hurriedly that James felt he was being left behind. He spent long hours in the common room working copiously through towering stacks of homework. Teddy had warned that the OWLs were strenuous – even so, <em>this<em> was unexpected.

James regretted taking Ancient Runes, easily his hardest subject; a close second was History of Magic – whilst the topics were invigorating, Professor Binns seemed determined to do his utmost best to numb the minds of his students through sheer boredom. There was only one thought that sustained James: come Saturday, he could take his broom outside and enjoy a few hours of respite.

It was a rather gloomy morning, James noted, as though the clouds themselves were exhausted. He sorted through his trunk quietly, preferring that his fellow Gryffindors remain asleep. As it was, his hand scraped something that rustled – not a spare piece of parchment, but a scrap of yellow paper.

James stared at the sheet. Then he picked up his Supernova and stole from the dormitory, quietly as possible.

**...**

"You're planning something," said Albus suspiciously, passing the potatoes.

James gave an exaggerated sigh. "And why, exactly, must I be _planning_ something?"

"Because," a cheerful voice piped next to James (he hadn't even noticed Lily bully her way into the seat beside him), "you've been so quiet! I mean, you've just been doing your _homework_..."

He did not appreciate being surveyed from either side. "I'm focusing on Quidditch," he said quietly, spearing a few peas with his fork. The excuse was feeble, likely to crumble under his siblings' joint scrutiny. "That's all."

Albus opened his mouth but was cut off when Hugo came hurrying up to the trio, smirking maliciously. He lowered his voice and hissed, "Peeves just managed to break the Slytherin hourglass – it's _manic_!"

Albus gasped. Lily giggled. James escaped from the table.

**...**

His father's Invisibility Cloak remained hidden at the bottom of James' trunk, the Marauder's Map secure beneath its silvery folds. There were evenings James found it unnerving that one of his most precious possessions had been written by four people he'd never known – and two were his namesakes. From the stories James seldom heard, his grandfather and his grandfather's best friend hadn't been keen on rules.

It was bizarre, James thought as he trudged his way upstairs to the Owlery, but he found himself missing things he had never owned. For instance, he sometimes wished that his eyes were green and not brown...

The Owlery was deserted except for the Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Phillips, a plump man whose bearded face was habitually flushed. As they had never exchanged words, James nodded politely before tying a letter to his owl's claw. Robbie (whose name had been hurriedly bestowed by James' mother when the boy threatened to pull one from a hat) took flight: the letter was going to James' parents, detailing the past two weeks at Hogwarts and informing them that his cousins Hugo and Fred were the new Gryffindor Beaters.

"Something on your mind, Potter?" James turned, surprised that he was being addressed. "You're watching that owl as though you regret sending it."

"I'm fine, Professor," answered James. It felt rude to say nothing more, so James continued, "I'm a bit overwhelmed by the essays... people weren't joking when they said fifth-year is monstrous..."

"Ah," smiled Professor Phillips. "It's only one year! Don't worry too much. You'll pull through, of course, and then there's career advice in a few terms... given any thought to your ambitions?"

James shook his head. He could not confide in Professor Phillips that, once upon a time, he had wanted to be an Auror... but what was the point in following in his father's footsteps, when his father clearly preferred his other children? Why try to make Harry proud, when Harry's pride was Albus?

"Well," Professor Phillips was still rambling; James tore himself from the dismal thoughts with some difficulty, "you'll find an answer, or an answer will come to you. Who knows, you may be fortunate enough to find direction in the mail! Have a good week..."

"Professor!" cried James suddenly. How could he have been so _stupid_? "Could you – if it's not too much trouble – what's email?"

Professor Phillips rubbed his fingers against his beard, beaming. "Excellent question! Without going into semantics... it's one method Muggles use of communicating with each other. You have a unique email address – rather like a home address – and then you send email messages, or emails. Excellent invention, if I dare say so..."

Of course... he knew Muggles didn't use owls, but James had never considered that they would have systems outside of the post. Uncle Ron once had everyone in hysterics, recounting the day when he tried to contact Harry using a telephone. Grandpa Arthur was always tinkering with some device or other...

"And these emails – are they hard to send?"

The Professor shook his head. "Not at all!" he boomed heartily. "It all depends on how fast you can write! They usually arrive in about three seconds!"

James' jaw unfastened. "Three... three _seconds_?"

"Absolutely!"

"But!" The owls were glowering at James, furious that his shouts were disrupting their hard-earned rest. Yet James could not care less – he was astounded by what he was hearing. "That's a million times faster than owl post!"

At once, the Owlery throbbed with indignant squawks and hoots – Professor Phillips yelled and the pair raced from the room, shielding their heads. Once they were free of the birds' wrath, Professor Phillips concluded, between wheezes, "Yes, I quite agree... it would save the magical world so much time if we adapted." He groaned, looking down at his right boot, splattered in something white. "Still... we wizards aren't fond of change... must be off, excuse me..."

James was left by himself, standing in a world he knew little about.


	3. The Seekers at War

Chapter Three

**The Seekers at War**

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><p>"WEASLEY! AND YOU, WEASLEY! HAND THAT OVER <em>RIGHT NOW<em>!"

From the corner of the Gryffindor common room, James watched with a slight smirk as Hugo and Fred stopped their Gobstones game, faces riddled with synchronised guilt. Alice Longbottom was scowling at the third-years with such severity that silence fell – though James heard a muffled giggle that sounded suspiciously like Lily.

"We were only playing," Fred grumbled.

Alice proffered her hand. Hugo shrugged. Fred sighed and gave something to Alice. Her fingers curled over the object immediately, though they were shaking – something was struggling to get out.

The Gobstones decoy hadn't fooled the Head Girl.

Alice marched away and conversation returned to the room. Fred was sulking. James chuckled and returned to his textbook.

"Your cousins are crazy," murmured a low voice.

Clarisse Michales was smiling at James. She was a pretty girl with curly hair and an infectious smile, accentuated by her dimples. She balanced her Prefect duties with being Quidditch Captain and Seeker.

James grinned. "My cousins will lead _your_ team to victory." He drummed his fingers on the page, adding, "Come to think of it, I should have enough to take over Hogwarts..."

She twirled her hair around one finger. "If you say so. It's Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw first, so don't let your practice time be chewed up by detention – hold on," she frowned, and James automatically wondered what he had done, "you're in here quite a lot – have you had a detention yet?"

"Nope," said James breezily. It was already halfway through October, and so far, he had kept out of trouble. Various teachers remarked on his progress – in fact, the Astronomy professor had secretly confided that, if he continued to concentrate, he could shift from an A to an E by the time the exams arrived.

"Hmm..." Clarisse blinked. "Alright. I remember the OWLs last year – I had to seize every spare second to get outside. But you're so relaxed – what _are_ you reading, anyway?"

"This?" James glanced at the tome in his lap. "Oh, I'm just flicking through..."

"Is that _Muggle Studies_?"

"Yes," said James defiantly, his skin bristling. "Why?"

She looked affronted at the bite in James' voice. "Oh, nothing," she said hastily. "Just that you don't even take that class – if you have time to do work for random subjects, you really could be out there, practising..."

Then she went off, talking about a Potions essay. James didn't know whether to feel angry or ashamed, so to shake off his frustration, he strode to the library to return the book.

**...**

At last, the Halloween feast. James stuffed himself until his stomach was on the verge of exploding – he tore through chicken and chips, lasagne and ravioli, mashed potatoes and dumplings, some kind of pie... Overhead, Nearly-Headless Nick hovered with a look of longing on his ghostly face, which would have been off-putting had James not been so ravenously hungry.

"Easy man – no need to chew the table!" laughed Patrick Frayn as James reached for finely-chopped carrots. "What's up with _you_?"

"I'm comfort eating," answered James, kicking Albus under the table. Without halting his conversation with Rose, Albus obligingly slid the tureen of beans towards his brother. "We had a test in Ancient Runes. Disaster. Wish I'd taken a different class."

"Like what?" Patrick rolled his eyes and ticked the options off on his fingers. "Everyone in your family hates Divination, Arithmancy is the hardest subject and Muggle Studies – hah. Face it. You _had_ to choose Ancient Runes."

"Yeah well..." trailed James. He gulped some pumpkin juice. "Right now, I reckon _anything_ would be easier than Ancient Runes."

Rose paused, frowning at James. She had inherited her mother's brown, bushy hair, and – to James' endless displeasure – her mother's bossy mannerisms and ability to _always _be right. "You know, you could ask Mum for help," she said. "Ancient Runes is a fascinating subject! I don't know why you find it so difficult. If you spent more time doing your homework than flying around on that broom –"

"– We need to win the Cup," interrupted James. He could sense Clarisse's eyes on him. He did not want to tell the table of Gryffindors that he rarely enjoyed the wind sifting through his hair these days, or that being the chief Chaser wasn't nearly as fulfilling as it used to be, and that, at awkward moments, he wished that he had the talent and reflexes needed for a Seeker. "If that means that my homework takes a back seat..."

Patrick applauded and pounded his fist on the table. Rose clicked her tongue. The dishes cleared and were replaced by an array of puddings. James grabbed a banana soufflé, inhaling its soothing scent. He took a bite of the dessert and immediately felt the gnawing sensation in his stomach be replaced by warmth.

**...**

"And there's a lot of pressure on our fourteen players as they kick off the Quidditch season!" cried the commentator, a Hufflepuff called Marcellus Danvey. He was being joined – or supervised – in the box by the Head of Slytherin, a broomstick enthusiast. "For the Gryffindors we have Captain Michales, leading: Potter, Lopez, Frayn, Weasley, Weasley and _Stevens_!"

The Gryffindor supporters roared, a maze of scarlet and red. James thought he spied someone wearing a hat with a growling lion's head.

"And now," continued Danvey, "the Ravenclaw team! Please welcome the side put together by Captain Fernandez: here are Claxton, Nicoli, Liang, Thompson, Oprey and _DOMINIQUE_!"

The Head of Slytherin murmured disapprovingly that James' cousin was introduced by her forename and not her surname, but the rebuke drowned: Ravenclaw erupted. James could see smatterings of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins wearing blue and bronze scarves – some jumped up as Dominique looked around at the crowd, waving regally. Her long, silvery-blonde hair caught the frail rays of light; she was radiant, as though it were summer and not autumn.

And the game began.

James took the lead at once – he had been devising formations with Maria Lopez and Patrick for almost two months; they coursed into a triangle – Maria swerved sharply as a Bludger came close to dismantling her nose – Hugo soared closer, sending the Bludger thundering at Oprey – Patrick passed the Quaffle – James was in the perfect place, hands closed around the red ball –

The first goal – he always dedicated the first goal to his father – not today –

"AND POTTER SCORES! GRYFFINDOR TEN, RAVENCLAW ZERO!"

James closed his eyes momentarily, twisting his thoughts into the image of a man he had only seen in photographs – a man with untidy black hair and hazel eyes. "For you," he murmured.

Dominique was swooping all over the pitch – to the frustration of all the Weasleys she had spent chunks of the holiday with Uncle Charlie – where her flying failed she would shake her head, distracting those around her. Being part-Veela had the same effect as a stunning spell; James laughed as he spiralled towards the Quaffle, picturing Louis' scowl: he hated it when his elder sister flaunted her good looks.

"And Liang is ROCKETING through the air – she has the Quaffle – will she get past Stevens? Stevens is ready – Liang shoots – LIANG SCORES! THEY'RE EQUAL!"

"James!"

Clarisse looked grim. She swept her hair from her face, furiously scanning the skies for the glittering Snitch. "Go!"

He didn't need to be told twice. James held up his left hand, a signal to his fellow Chasers.

Attack.

The next fifteen minutes passed in a frenzy of goals and injuries – there was a scream from the onlookers when Dominque narrowly missed being smashed by a Bludger, but Hugo instinctively went to her aid – Fred swore, James scored – and they were at Gryffindor eighty, Ravenclaw fifty. Stevens' face was shining with sweat: the seventh-year had made a series of spectacular saves.

"This match is phenomenal!" screamed Danvey. "And – oh! Dominique is – what's the _point_ Professor? There are Weasleys on both sides!"

Dominique was hurtling towards something bright – James saw what he must do –

He stormed forward on the Supernova. She glanced up when James was a few seconds away – her eyes widened, her mouth slackened – James was going to collide –

No, he wasn't! He shot away at the last moment, leaving Dominique paralysed. Racing up from the ground, he intercepted the Quaffle.

"_That_," exhaled James, "was for _you_."

And the match was over. Clarisse had capitalised on James' opening: she clutched the fluttering Snitch and the game ended at Gryffindor, two hundred and thirty, Ravenclaw, fifty. Hugo and Fred were whooping and jumping, ecstatic at their success in their first match and James, brimming with burning elation, touched down on the ground to be swamped by a tide of cheering Gryffindors.


	4. The Clan

Thank you all for the lovely reviews! Every comment makes me grin for half an hour. XD

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><p>Chapter Four<p>

**The Clan**

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><p>"Aah!" Lily recoiled, stroking her face. "Are they still <em>there<em>?"

"Of course they're still _there_," snapped Louis. "It's Exploding Snap, not _Burning_ Snap! And there are more important things than _eyebrows_."

"Oh Louis!" trilled Dominique, throwing up her hands. "When will you show some _refinement_? It would not do for poor Lily to lose her eyebrows – the disfigurement would finish her face –"

Lily's concern vanished instantly. James tore into a pumpkin pasty.

They usually managed to secure a compartment to themselves, a tradition that began with Lily's first journey to Hogwarts. James glanced at his relatives: Molly and Rose were drawing homework planners for the holidays; Lily, Hugo, Fred and Roxanne were playing card games; Dominique was trying to lure Louis into discussing hair accessories while Lucy and Albus were swapping Chocolate Frog cards.

James fixed his gaze on the rolling landscape. The fields were slowly becoming greener. Albus' reflection flicked towards his elder brother once or twice, but James did not turn.

There _were_, James knew, people who could answer his endless questions… but the idea of contacting the Dursleys was so foreign that he laughed aloud.

"I must admit, I'm impressed. James went all term without receiving a _single_ detention!" James swivelled and rolled his eyes at Rose; she was smiling in an approving (and rather patronising) way. "I really don't know why you weren't made a Prefect – you've been _exemplary_."

"Rose," groaned Fred, "give it a rest!"

At the end of the summer holidays, the lack of the badge had gnawed on James nerves; he concluded that the Headmistress of Hogwarts felt he didn't deserve responsibility. But then Ginny had disclosed that _she_ hadn't been a Prefect, and neither had Harry, or James' two namesakes, so, somewhat placated, James packed his school things. He was privately relieved that he wouldn't be lumbered with boring Prefect burdens: touring up and down the Hogwarts Express and forcing students to behave.

"Nah, she's right." James propped his feet onto the opposite seat; Molly sniffed, as though his heels were caked in flaking mud. "Those OWLs are eating me alive! Prepare yourselves kids!"

The compartment door slid open. The three Potters and eight Weasleys looked up – Scorpius Malfoy hovered in the doorway. Molly raised a hand in greeting and Malfoy's eyes narrowed: he promptly slammed the door shut, disappearing.

"How rude," said Hugo blandly. He asked Molly, "I guess _you're_ alright, being Ravenclaw?"

"I haven't seen him cause trouble with anyone," said Molly, her nose wrinkling. "I wonder what he wanted?"

"Maybe to talk to you? Everyone knows we travel together." Roxanne was a first-year and in the same House as Molly and Dominique. She tucked a braid behind her ear. "Lorcan and Lysander planned to sit with us but decided not to intrude –"

"_What_?" cried Lily. "But they're your _friends_!"

A tremor passed down James' spine. "You should _all_ sit with your friends," he said loudly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Why _wasn't_ he with the other fifth-years? Why was he babysitting? "It's not as if we don't see each other enough already – besides, Christmas Eve at The Burrow, right? It's fine to be apart, you know."

Silence.

James flung his feet on the floor and rose. He surveyed the clan of Weasleys and Potters. So many different hues were watching him closely... were they frightened? They shifted as though preparing to obey his orders. James felt something satisfying yet disturbing twist under his lungs: apparently, being the eldest had its benefits.

"I'm leaving," he announced, grabbing his bag. "Later."

He stalked from the compartment.

**...**

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was bitterly cold. James accepted a hug from Lucy and waved goodbye to the others. Then he, Albus and Lily searched for their parents. As always, various witches and wizards threw the Potters sidelong glances. Some trailed the group, surreptitiously trying to eavesdrop.

Harry hugged Lily and Albus then ruffled James' hair. "It's a walk to the car," he informed his children, "parking was a nightmare..."

"Where are Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione?"

Ginny grinned. "Apparently they couldn't be bothered with driving today. Lazy! They said not to wait around so we'll get going... your owls will panic with all this noise..."

There were a few last greetings and a few last farewells – finally, they passed the ticket barrier. James resolutely kept his eyes down. He did not enjoy the constant stares, the persistent surveillance. He could hear Lily nattering at his side, squeezing an entire term into ten minutes.

James only looked up when he smashed into something and Robbie hooted fretfully.

"Sorry!" Jamed helped the man to his feet – he was tall, and judging from his crisp suit and smooth tie, a Muggle. The man had been reading a newspaper, which James hurriedly recovered. "I should have been looking, I –"

But he broke off as he spied a motionless photograph. Wordlessly, James took the sheet. The man grumbled but, deciding that he was finished with the page, marched away, muttering about teenagers with owls and how the animal kingdom was being endangered by stupid trends.

James remained still, barely absorbing the headline. He studied the picture. It featured a large group; some were posing, others were relaxed. In the foreground was the girl he had met at King's Cross on the first of September – she was beaming, holding what looked a Quaffle.

"_Girls' basketball team enjoys success..._" read Ginny, peering over her son's shoulder. "What's basketball?"

Harry began to explain, but James did not listen. His mind was whirring.

**…**

It was late in the year – too late – thought James morosely, peering through the bars. The school was a fair size, though a dwarf compared to Hogwarts (then again, Hogwarts _was _a castle). Delicate snow descended in drifts; he had braved the Knight Bus to get here...

Time to roll the dice in his favour.

He drew a squat vial from his pocket. The glass misted in the cold, but the liquid gold within shimmered. James uncorked the vial slowly, then, knowing that he would be interrogated later, gulped half its contents.

He felt as though he had swallowed a fireplace – and now he knew what to do. James began trudging along a frosting path, sinking his face in his Gryffindor scarf.

He soon reached a shopping centre, though it was so unlike Diagon Alley that for a moment, James could only stare. People were coursing in every direction, gossiping noisily. He could hear bells. Bright lights were strewn in every direction and all the stores boasted huge posters in their windows. James had only been in a Muggle shop once or twice, but had triggered such a commotion that Harry quickly dragged him outside.

It was almost lunch time and James was hungry. He had exchanged some Muggle money with Aunt Hermione, who was mystified by the request but (for once) didn't press the issue. James was debating what to eat when, amongst the swelling crowds, he glimpsed a girl bundled in a coat and hat – she had long hair and dark eyes and James knew that the potion had paid off.

He avoided clotted families and tapped her shoulder. She spun on the spot – and squealed. "Sirius!"

"Sirius?" James echoed. He imagined Harry's expression – his father would chuckle. "Is that the only part you remember?"

She shook her head. "No... it's James, right? Wow – I didn't realise you lived here! James... Baker?"

James roared. "_Potter_! Wrong profession! I'm not actually from around here... just got lucky when I saw you..."

She glanced down at the bags in her hands, then back at James' face. "I still have to buy some presents, but I should take a break. Let's get something to eat? I need more strength!"

Soon they were sitting in a small café, and deciding to split the bill, placed orders. The girl showed the same penchant for talking that she had in September – she talked about school, about her parents, about her friends: everything. Every so often she expressed her astonishment at their chance meeting. All the boy could do was smile.

When she paused to drink hot chocolate, James probed, "So – how were your exams?"

She swallowed. "They were okay. I've messed up all the cores. Mum is _not_ happy. Thing is, she's an examiner so she knows the standard. She banned my phone for three days before each test. I nearly died." She looked solemn. "GCSEs are important, but I'm not... suited for them. PE and Textiles are my best subjects. Guess I'm better at practical stuff."

James looked at her wistfully. "It's just as bad at my school," he confessed. "The teachers are crazy. All the fifth-years have got muscle pains from the lack of sleep and are stomping around with shadows under their eyes."

"You look pretty good."

James choked on a chunk of cheesecake.

She leant on her hand. "So... could I have your email address? I remembered that I didn't get it last time..."

James wrapped his hands around his cup of tea. His confidence was ebbing; he would be on his own. "Actually... I don't have one. I'm uh... not really the email type. Or the phone type, for that matter."

"Oh..."

"I," James hesitated, then barrelled on: "I write letters. If you're up for that."

Now she seemed amused. "_Letters_? Like, 'Yours sincerely' and everything?"

"If you want." He still hadn't figured how Muggle letters could get to Hogwarts, but he was working on it.

She tapped her fingers on the table. There was an abrupt buzzing sound. Apologising, the girl slid her phone from her pocket. Her fingers danced in a flurry as she poked the surface; was she sending an email? She pocketed the phone once more. "Just needed to text my friend," she said. "Sure! It sounds fun!"

James exhaled.

They left the café, the girl wheedling James into joining her expedition. He shadowed her into a supermarket, where she selected a biography for her father, then into a confectionary shop, where she purchased a tray of fudge – "My friend _loves_ these! Hey, you getting anything?"

James folded his arms. These sweets weren't Fizzing Whizzbees or Cockroach Clusters or Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, but they were still interesting. He looked at packets of honeycomb and chocolate-covered raisins. "I'll get this," he said finally, choosing a bag of sherbet lemons.

"Okay." Out came the phone again; the girl was checking a list. "One last thing… are you willing to come with me?"

"Where?" asked James warily.

He quickly found out. They stopped in front of a crowded store. It was the wildest explosion of pink and rainbows and jewellery that James had ever seen – his mouth twitched and the girl sniggered. "I'll be a minute," she promised. "I know what she wants – it's a white pencil case with green stars."

"Look at the queue," said James hoarsely. He could see swarms of girls about Lily's age – and younger – shielding the counter. "Who exactly are you buying for?"

"My little cousin…"

James sighed and checked his watch. "Ten minutes," he declared. "I will wait here for ten minutes."

She saluted and rushed inside.

It was strange, James thought, watching the hordes of people. He had taken care of his own shopping in Hogsmeade and London, yet hiking through the Muggle stores, he had seen so many things that he knew would make good gifts – there was a notebook printed with a building that looked like Shell Cottage, and a remote-controlled car that Grandpa Arthur would love. James had searched the sweetshop for treacle fudge, but there hadn't been any… well, it wasn't a product that Honeydukes supplied either…

"Done!" She was back, the straps of a purple bag wrapped around her fingers. "Thanks for waiting."

"That's everything, isn't it?" James enquired. He regretted the terseness of the question.

"Almost! That depends – what would _you_ like?"

"Huh?" James shook his head swiftly. "You don't need to get me anything!"

"I do," she said stubbornly. "You've put up with me for three hours! And your head revolves _everywhere_ we go."

James laughed. "I was just looking around for other people… But I've already bought presents. You don't –"

"– Listen James," she said, raising a hand, "I can either get you something you'll like, or I can get – a spoon."

"You…" James grinned. He wondered whether to drink the rest of the potion, then decided he was doing quite well on his own. "You won't let this go, will you?"

"Nope," she said cheerily.

"Okay," smirked James. It was time to put her to the test. "I want something magical."

She giggled. "Magical? What – you want a wand?"

James shook his head. "I already have a wand."

She quirked her eyebrows.

"A cauldron?"

"Got one."

"A broomstick?"

James chuckled. Just how much _did_ Muggles suspect about the magical community? "I have the world's best broomstick," he confided recklessly. "You'll have to try harder than that."

"You like to make life difficult…" She sighed dramatically, looking away from James. He whistled while she frowned. "Okay, Mr Magician," she proclaimed after a minute. "Watch this. I have the perfect present."

Amused, James sauntered alongside the girl, navigating shoppers. He chuckled quietly as they entered a toy store. The girl marched down an aisle flanked with colourful dolls and stuffed bears. She halted before a display of figurines; plucking one, she swivelled towards James. There was an animal in her hands.

"Do you have one of _these_?"

James declined. His nerves were racketing. This was pure coincidence… the girl beamed, victorious. She wove her way to the tills, clutching the unicorn. James picked an owl that greatly resembled Robbie and followed.

She could not have known, James told himself, that the wand he purchased from Mr Ollivander had a core of unicorn hair.

* * *

><p>Sorry for the mammoth update. This chapter was originally 900 words… then it got longer and longer. ^^;<p> 


	5. Uncle Percy's Solution

Chapter Five

**Uncle Percy's Solution**

* * *

><p>James rounded on Uncle Percy at the first opportunity, bustling the bespectacled Weasley into Uncle Ron's old room. Percy looked alarmed as he regarded his eldest nephew, but before he could ask what was happening, James declared, "Uncle Perce – I need help."<p>

Percy's whole demeanour changed. He straightened the collar of his robes and said pompously, "_Certainly_ James! I assume this is about your upcoming careers session? Personally, I feel that you would excel in –"

"Not that," interrupted James. He knew from experience that once Percy began holding court, it was a mission getting the Ministry official to stop. "This is more important. I have a – pen friend, but... I don't know how to go about sending a letter without an owl."

Percy blinked. "But... why would you need to send a letter without an owl?"

"My pen friend is a Muggle," said James, bracing himself for the worst.

There was a boom somewhere downstairs, followed by Fleur's throaty admonishments and Fred's raucous laughter. Percy adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. "You want to send a letter from Hogwarts?"

James nodded. He had been tempted, at first, to consult Aunt Hermione… but she was too shrewd, too understanding, and there were too many things he didn't _want_ to explain. He had come this far without assistance (apart from his stint with Harry's Felix Felicis); James wanted to keep it that way.

What he needed was a stickler for rules.

Percy beamed. "I must say – I'm proud of you James. You could pursue a career in International Relations! As it is, Ministry wizards work in the Muggle post offices, of course – we can't have wizarding mail fall into the wrong hands! I envision that it would be best, however, to ask someone to pass your letters on for you. Send them by the normal method to some sort of halfway house and then arrange for your correspondence to be delivered to your pen friend."

James swallowed. He had expected this sort of answer – a rambling method that would take twice the usual length of time. His brown eyes inspected his uncle carefully... there was something faintly embarrassing about what James was requesting. "Would... _you_ do it?"

A pink tinge coloured Percy's cheeks. Suddenly remembering that this was the first time he had asked Percy for a favour, James shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"You would have to promise me," murmured Percy, "that you wouldn't say anything – dangerous. That's against the law, you know."

"And you would have to promise _me_," said James firmly, "that you wouldn't try to open the letters. I just want to contact my friend. That's all."

There was a moment when Percy surveyed James with such hesitance that he was certain his uncle would refuse. Then Grandma Weasley's voice chimed through the house, summoning everyone to dinner.

"Alright," said Percy with a small smile. "You have my word."

They shook hands and went downstairs, James grinning.

**...**

The first Herbology lesson of the new term found the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors trekking through the deep snow towards the greenhouses. Professor Longbottom ushered them inside quickly: some students were stomping their feet, fending off the cold.

They were dealing with Hobisculus Vespers, small potted plants that grew with alarming speed whenever a person's back was turned. Professor Longbottom stationed the students in circles – they were to extract small, white buds from beneath the Vesper's leaves, a delicate task that could only be fulfilled while the plant was small, since when it erupted to its monstrous size, the flowers shrivelled into the Vesper's stem.

"The holidays went too quickly," complained Patrick, pulling on protective gloves. He glared at the tweezers lying on the table. "I don't know _how_ we're supposed to get the flowers while wearing _these_ – I can hardly move my hands."

"Yes, well," Jessica Pludwheel, a tall Hufflepuff Prefect, shook her head, "we haven't got much choice. How about you two hold the leaves while Triya and I get the flowers?"

"Sure," said James. He disliked such fiddly Herbology lessons. His best classes were Defence Against the Dark Arts, where being the scion of the Chosen One came in useful, and Care of Magical Creatures, which the students rarely escaped without a fresh bite or burn.

Ten minutes into the lesson, Patrick curled one of the Vesper's leaves and asked, "Who were you writing to?"

James frowned. "Me?"

"Yeah, you! This morning. You were scribbling like you had an essay due, but we finished Potions yesterday."

James privately cursed Patrick's talent for asking personal questions at the most inopportune moments; both Jessica and Triya were studying James inquisitively, the tiny plant on the table forgotten. "Does it matter?" James shrugged.

Patrick frowned. "You were using that peacock quill and –"

"Honestly," said James, "shut up."

Patrick scowled and dropped the subject. Some people, James seethed, turning to watch a Hufflepuff be smacked by an overgrown Vesper, were too nosy for their own good.

**...**

_BAKER,_

_SOMEONE'S posh! Do you live in the Middle Ages? Honestly, I cracked when I saw that you write on PARCHMENT. You really take letters seriously! It's cool you use a fountain pen. Thanks for the envelopes. They're cute._

_Term started off okay, thanks for asking. People are already freaking out about exams, so some guys kicked things off by having a fire extinguisher fight. This girl I despise got caught in the middle. It was too funny._

_Listen, don't worry so much! You sound old! You're a smart guy. Don't let GRADES take over your life. I know that's weird coming from me, since I come home and go into Nerd Mode every day, but you don't have to try so hard. Who are you trying to please? _

_Does your boarding school have a 6th Form? Or are you going to college, or getting a job? In any case, use these last few months to make some memories. _

_Take care!_

_The Unicorn _

_P. S. Nice nickname, by the way. Mum gave me the letter saying, "Is that your forum name?" Hehe._

_P. P. S. I've included some paper and biros for you. Your parchment makes me feel like a right commoner._

He re-read the sentences, absorbing the large, messy handwriting, smiling at the mistakes. James finally folded the letter and stored it inside his bag, along with the writing pad and pens. He had bought a heap of enchanted envelopes at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes: they could not be opened by anyone except the addressee. Still, James believed that Uncle Percy had kept his promise – there was no sign of the envelopes being tampered with. Thankfully, Hermes had delivered the girl's reply as James was departing for dinner: there had been few onlookers.

Something small nudged the side of James' shoe: he glanced down at the model unicorn, which he'd enchanted. Pointing his wand at the horse, James muttered, "_Finite_." The unicorn became still at once. The room grew quiet in the absence of its galloping hooves; James resolved to animate the horse the next time he was alone.

Warmth was shifting through his stomach, displacing the months of exhaustion and – he reflected wryly – bitterness. He opened the Marauder's Map. No one was patrolling the corridor, so he left the armchair and comfortable reading space provided by the Room of Requirement. He regretted that the Invisibility Cloak was back in his father's possession, but Harry was, after all, Head of the Auror Office, and needed the Cloak a lot more than his eldest son, who liked to wander through the school unnoticed.

James continued through the castle, contemplating what to say in his next letter and whether to experiment with the Muggle stationary. A blonde head twitched in his peripheral vision – James swivelled, noticing someone melt around the corner. Raising his eyebrows, James followed. Sure enough, he came face to face with Scorpius Malfoy, who was scowling.

"Hiding?" James asked. He'd had little occasion to talk to Scorpius, since they were in different Houses and different years; still, from the stories that Albus, Rose and Molly told, the Malfoy heir wasn't _too_ bad.

"Why would I hide from _you_?" sneered Scorpius. "You're the one who hides from other people!"

"Yeah," said James blandly, rolling his eyes and thinking back to the Hogwarts Express. "And you don't have the guts to enter a train compartment. Whatever."

He had walked two metres when the Slytherin exploded.

"You think you're so great!" snarled Scorpius. His eyes were flashing. "Living for Quidditch – avoiding everyone you know – you try so hard to make _Daddy_ proud – but Harry Potter doesn't care, does he? You're unnecessary when he's got two perfect kids!"

James raised his wand, debating which curse to hurl at Malfoy – the Bat-Bogey Hex, or the classic Stupefy? But before he could fire, he found words falling from his mouth – Malfoy had drawn his own wand, crouching slightly, poised to duel right outside the vacated Arithmancy classroom.

"Pay attention," said James in a low voice. "You can criticise _my_ family when _yours_ stops being so disappointing. I've never seen such a pathetic kid – you're _scared_ to be friends with Gryffindors because you're worried you'll get disowned!"

"No one even _likes_ you!"

Half a heartbeat ticked –

"_FERNUNCULUS_!" screamed Malfoy.

"_CALVORIO_!" bellowed James.

James' hand burned with heat – he did not have time to check but could feel his skin pricking, boiling – his curse flew at Malfoy's brow – the boy screamed; strands of his white-blonde hair trickled to the polished ground.

Malfoy was distracted – James swished his wand again: "_DENSUAGEO_!"

But Malfoy ducked, one hand shielding his mouth as though waiting for his teeth to expand – he parted his pale fingers and yelled, "_INCARCEROUS_!"

Ropes shot from Malfoy's wand-tip; they were wrapping around James' torso, taping his arms to his sides – his right hand was still free – he could –

"_REDUC-"_

But suddenly James was flying backwards – he hit the wall with a thud, sliding down… a moment later and the ropes were gone… his neck was tingling as the boils crept along his skin…

James looked up slowly. He met the eyes of Professor Longbottom. The man seemed… sad.

"Potter, Malfoy – detention."


	6. The Lion and the Unicorn

Thanks again for all your lovely reviews. I'm just going to clarify that the Muggle girl will remain nameless. James knows her name, but we, the audience, don't. It would feel strange to name her this late. :)

I'd love to finish this story before September, so updates might be... a little frequent.

Onwards~!

* * *

><p>Chapter Six<p>

**The Lion and the Unicorn**

* * *

><p><em>James,<em>

_Wow, and I'M stressed because I can't find a dress for prom. Did you knock out a tooth? I did that to this kid back in Year 1 when he pushed me off the swing. But the tooth was wobbly anyway, so I got off lightly._

_Joking aside, I think you're being really hard on yourself. People fight with younger students all the time, and from what you said, he's a brat. If anyone insults you, ignore them. They're not worth it._

_(I can't believe you cleaned dungeons as a punishment. Is your school run by Dracula?) _

_I don't know James. You're such a nice guy but you sound really lonely. Do you want to talk about it? _

_You need to let off some steam._

_Sorry that this is so short. I'm dying from coursework and I got about three detentions for skiving Science lessons. But the teacher's so stupid that he's killed my IQ. Urgh. _

_Write soon, okay? I'll definitely send a better letter. _

_Take care,_

_The Unicorn_

The words were reassuring, yet James still felt disappointed for losing control. His duel with Scorpius Malfoy was widely discussed: students from wizarding families made snide remarks about old family feuds. Worse were his recollections of the exchange preceding the fight. By some ironic insight, a Slytherin stranger had voiced the troubles that had been plaguing James for almost a year.

The silhouettes of Albus and Lily emerged from Hagrid's hut.

It didn't matter how hard he tried to reach Harry's expectations: James' best plans always stumbled. He had started at Hogwarts with gliding ambitions, finally about to become a Gryffindor.

Then, in his third year, James joined the Quidditch team, though grudgingly accepting that he was a Chaser like his mother – not a Seeker like his father. Perhaps he resembled another Potter entirely…

The cold snow crunched as James returned to the castle. Loneliness? It sounded too simple.

**…**

Rain drummed a tattoo on the windows. Professor Irogliff coughed lightly, but the fifth-years paid no heed. She rapped her long wand on the table; copper stars flew in a shower and the students reluctantly acknowledged their teacher. They were having another practice test, and only one person was looking forward to it.

At James' left, the Hufflepuff Dimitri Pervoi shuffled his desk away, his expression suggesting that James would spontaneously combust.

James had taken multiple precautions. He couldn't be traced.

"And now," proclaimed Professor Irogliff, smiling broadly as she handed out sheets, "we'll begin. You have exactly forty minutes to translate the unseen passage. Good luck!"

Three – two –

The classroom door crashed open. A suit of armour clattered inside.

Professor Irogliff stared. Then she cleared her throat and asked – rather severely, James thought – "Can I _help_ you?"

"OH YES!" bellowed the suit, clanking as it jumped up and down. "SING WITH ME!"

And it spread its arms and began howling Christmas carols.

James roared – some people covered their ears – Professor Irogliff pointed her wand at the suit of armour murmuring – but the spell rebounded and a Gryffindor shrieked, diving for cover. Undeterred, the suit switched to a medieval ballad: a girl at the back joined in, inspiring everyone else to sing along.

"Stop!" cried Professor Irogliff.

No one listened. The fifth-years leapt up, humming when they didn't know the words, clapping their hands to keep the beat of the latest song – an old classic by The Weird Sisters. The suit of armour conducted the class by waving its fingers, pausing to praise a Hufflepuff baritone, easily the most powerful voice.

"_What_ is going on in here?"

The Headmistress of Hogwarts stood stiffly in the doorway. The students ceased singing, slinking back to their desks.

James kept his expression neutral as the Headmistress' eyes flicked over the class. Professor Irogliff was smoothing her hair, pretending that nothing unusual had happened.

Unfortunately for James, the suit had an awkward sense of loyalty.

"Who enchanted you?" asked the Headmistress coolly.

The suit pointed a clanging finger.

As he followed the Headmistress through the corridors, James privately reflected that he had no regrets.

**…**

She shrugged her shoulders. "Don't feel so bad."

It was the second day of the Easter holidays, and to everyone's surprise, all three Potters affirmed that they were going home. Now James and the girl relaxed by a large pond. Everyone was enjoying the bright day, fishing, walking their dogs or having picnics.

"He basically said I'd never please Dad," yawned James. He seized a fistful of grass and began knotting in the blades. "I can't remember the last time I was so angry. I got mad because he's _right_."

"Don't be stupid," she prodded James' temple; he looked up to find her dark eyes slanting. "Why _wouldn't_ your dad be proud?"

He sighed. How could he explain that he was the son of _Harry Potter_, the man who had saved the world at seventeen? "Dad's pretty famous in his line of work," said James carefully. "For ages I wanted to follow his lead, but... I'm wasting my time."

A paddling of ducks quacked as they waddled past the pair. She threw them chunks of bread crust, leftovers from their pineapple jam sandwiches. "Are you jealous of your little brother?"

James gave a small laugh. "Yeah. I hate it, but... yeah."

She shook her head. "I don't know what to say. I don't have any brothers or sisters, so I've never competed for my parents. But," she glanced down at James, weighing her words, "I can keep saying 'Don't worry', but that doesn't mean you'll listen. Look: _I'm_ proud to know you, and this is only the third time I've actually _seen_ you. You're kinder and more mature than half the people I know – and that's with my friends. If you don't mean the world to your dad, he's an idiot."

He could not meet her gaze. He looked back at the tranquil water, glittering in the sunlight... it was so unlike the lake that housed the Giant Squid, and yet, it was consolingly familiar.

He sat up, reaching a verdict.

"I need to tell you something." He threw aside the grass and edged closer to her. "It's my secret – you have to _swear_ that you won't tell anyone, absolutely _swear_."

"I..." She folded her hands, her expression becoming guarded. "You can trust me."

"And you can't laugh!"

She looked pained. "Okay," she said, after a pause. "I'll try, but if it slips out – I'm sorry."

James inhaled. "I'm a wizard."

There was a long, deep silence. James heard the rustling trees and noticed butterflies skittering past. Then, the girl murmured, "Are we playing a game?"

"No, we're not," he said quietly. "When we were talking at Christmas – you know, a lot of what I said was true. I _do_ have a wand, and a cauldron, and a broomstick –"

"– And a cat," she said dully, "can't forget the old familiar."

"An owl, actually."

She groaned impatiently. "James – please. Those kinds of jokes are pretty lame –"

"No," interrupted James. "I'm a wizard."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, I might not be the brightest bulb, but how gullible do I look? I bet you go to a _magic_ school, and it's in the middle of nowhere, and you're actually training to – _why are you laughing_?"

James coughed. "You got it so quickly," he said soberly, holding back a smirk. Her cheeks were reddening and her mouth was drawn into a tight, angry line. "I know what you're thinking. You want me to prove it, don't you? I'm _really_ not supposed to tell anyone, so – I'm trusting you."

She raised her palms. "Okay... okay..."

James stretched for his bag, maintaining eye contact with the girl. He searched its contents until his fingers gently closed around a small figurine, which jolted his palm.

He was breaking wizarding law. He was jeopardizing his family. He was risking _everything_.

"Do you remember this?" he whispered, setting down the horse.

She trembled. James looked around for any observers; the unicorn, enchanted before his journey home, knelt down, grazing. The girl stared at the creature from one angle, then another. She trailed one finger along its mane – it neighed and the girl gulped, her eyes finding James.

"Wow," she breathed. "_Wow_."

**...**

"You're happy," commented Ginny, watching James sprinkle salt over his vegetables. "How's your friend?"

James beamed. "She's fine."

"_She_?" Lily pivoted towards Teddy. His hair was currently styled in green spikes, though it was streaked with light brown. "He's been so odd lately! He's only had two detentions!"

"Good for you," grumbled Teddy. "I'll tell you one thing – don't bother chasing pretty girls..."

He moodily stabbed his potatoes.

Albus and Harry exchanged a glance. Then Harry probed, "What happened with Victoire?"

Teddy lay down his fork. "I don't even know. One minute she's fine and the next she's hissing at me in rapid French... I'll need to recruit Louis as translator..."

The family laughed, but Lily was determined to have her say. "But he's got _OWLs_," she argued, now turning to Harry for support. He surveyed her with every sign of paying attention. "He should be studying and pranking and –"

Harry grinned at his eldest son.

**...**

"So…" She was peering at bracelets behind a shop window. "You could – make these tap dance?"

"I could," chuckled James, "if I were seventeen. We're not allowed to do magic outside of school until then."

She twisted from the display, pouting. "I still think that sucks."

"Me too."

They continued trailing through the shopping centre, past stores selling discounted chocolate. James was returning to Hogwarts the next day. Having taken the Knight Bus three times that week, he was relishing the thought of the spacious Hogwarts Express – Stan Shunpike had guffawed that James was his best customer. The hours James didn't spend with the girl were occupied with the OWLs. She had waved aside her own studies, claiming that she would dedicate other days to revision. When James brought up her mother's severe warnings, her brow wrinkled. "We only have one overlapping week," she said.

James had quickly become a magical encyclopaedia. He described the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, Hogwarts and the Hogsmeade village. She was curious about his abilities, and though these were all verbal accounts instead of practical demonstrations, her eyes grew larger and larger. When he told her about his last Ancient Runes class, she snorted orange juice from her nose.

She was troubled by the relationship between wizards and Muggles. "So they take our memories, like that?" She snapped her fingers. "Even if we see you guys accidentally?"

"Yes."

She glowered. "That's unfair. Memories are precious – what gives wizards the right to take those away?"

He didn't know how to answer.

James was introduced to the beauty of Muggle fast food outlets. The girl giggled behind her hands as he tried to understand the currency. One morning, they went to a sports centre and played basketball with her hoard of friends; James evolved into the envy and delight of her peers, never missing a single shot.

Every so often she would gaze at him, her eyes bright. "It's definitely true?" she would whisper. "You're not making it up?"

"Of course not," he assured.

They were in a department store when James felt a tug on his sleeve. The girl nodded in one direction and he glanced over – some teenagers were tearing clothes off racks, laughing loudly. A shop assistant hovered nearby, debating whether to intervene.

"I hate them," she said coldly. He looked down, surprised – there was an alien aggression to her tone. "You could like… curse them."

Slightly exasperated, James said, "I already told you, I'm not allowed –"

"Please?" Now her voice was low. "Just something small... like – make the floor slippery. It'll be funny! They're not nice people."

"You don't sound so great yourself right now."

She glared and launched into an explanation: "They're _bullies_. But fine – since you can't do one _tiny_ thing, Mr Law-Abiding –"

"You know what?" James felt as though his veins were bubbling. "This last week I've answered everything you asked, even though I could get in serious trouble – but you don't _get_ that, do you? What do you _take_ me for, using magic to hurt people?"

She said coolly, "You weren't so honourable when it was you and that scorpion kid."

"You'd bring that up _now_?" snapped James.

The girl folded her arms.

Wintry coldness was gathering in James' lungs. He did not care that it was spring, did not care that people were staring – "You're just like everyone else – expecting James Potter to be there with party tricks – _I THOUGHT YOU WERE DIFFERENT_!"

"_Alright_ – whatever – shut up already –"

"Fine," snarled James savagely. "I'm done talking to you."

He stormed from the store.


	7. Summer

Chapter Seven

**Summer**

* * *

><p>Professor Longbottom's office was a vibrant conservatory teeming with fascinating plants – golden flowers would bob up and down at sunrise and a cluster of red blossoms tasted like strawberries. James chewed a pumpkin pasty while waiting for the teacher to finish sorting papers.<p>

A family portrait beamed beside the bookshelf. There was the Head of Gryffindor himself, smart in his neat dress robes; Hannah Longbottom, the Professor's wife and proprietress of the Leaky Cauldron; Alice, for once relaxed instead of stern and Augusta, a Hufflepuff third-year who had her father's round face and her mother's cheerful eyes.

"Sorry about that," said Neville, relocating a potted plant. "How are you James? You've been quiet recently."

"I shouldn't have gone home at Easter." James devoured the last bit of pasty. "It distracted me from studying."

Neville's stare made James wish he had spoken with more conviction.

"Have you thought about which career you want to go into? That'll help decide your NEWTs."

James drew a circle on the floor with one foot. "Not much thought, sir," he murmured.

"Alright," said Neville evenly, "let's get an overview. As it stands, you're doing well in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Astronomy. You seem to be having the most trouble with History of Magic and Study of Ancient Runes.

"You've shown a great aptitude for Quidditch, and we shouldn't ignore your advanced defensive magic. But," Neville paused and James looked up from the carpet fibres he had been intently examining, "you don't seem keen on pursuing Quidditch _or_ joining the Ministry."

A plant on the windowsill hummed.

James sat back in the chair. He regretted scoffing the pasty so quickly – it was churning inside him. "I don't know what I want to do," he admitted. "Not a clue."

"Ah."

"Couldn't I..." This was even harder than James had originally predicted. "Could I just – take my favourite classes? You know… decide later?"

The humming continued, growing vaguely tuneless.

"Of course," said Neville. "Not everyone knows what they want to do when they're fifteen. This is, however, a careers meeting, so I have to give _some_ advice." James found himself returning Neville's smile. "You should try to keep your options open, so there are some areas where you could improve. For example, Charms is always popular, but you'll need an E to continue."

Neville went to the door, holding it open. "I'll miss seeing you in Herbology."

As James walked away he glanced back over his shoulder, grinning at his favourite teacher. "Hey… you wouldn't ignore me, right?"

Neville chuckled. "Depends."

It was a beautiful day, perfect for collecting his Supernova and practising for a glorious hour, out on the Quidditch pitch.

**...**

So James studied. When he was not memorising potion procedures or scribbling notes on Switching Spells he was flying, training tirelessly for Gryffindor's final against Slytherin. He frequented the common room, laughing at the lower years or making plans with other fifth-years for their lives after OWLs. During weekends, he placed quill on parchment, sparing an hour and a half to write home.

A few weeks into the summer term, a bird soared in through a window and fluttered above James. The boy took the envelope cautiously. It was from Uncle Percy, wondering whether all was well. James answered politely that he was fine: exams were his priority. Percy was apparently satisfied with this answer, for there was no further reply.

On one swelteringly hot day, James and his friends made their way to a Care of Magical Creatures class, debating whether to sneak down to the kitchens for a pitcher of lemonade. James' gaze inadvertently strayed to the glittering lake and for a moment, he stood still, divided… but how could he forgive someone who hadn't even _tried_ to say sorry?

And there were things he understood now, words that he had overlooked during those first warm moments… _This girl I despise_… _I knocked out a tooth_… her sentences had often been laced with violence, and James, foolishly, hadn't cared.

…

Marcellus Danvey dolefully introduced the line-up of Slytherins and Gryffindors – and the fourteen players kicked off from the dry ground. James felt as though a Snitch was beating its wings inside his chest – if Gryffindor won, that was it: they had the Cup. He pictured the wreaths of scarlet and gold and grit his teeth.

Maria soared ahead, intercepting the Quaffle as Ulthork passed to Cassidy – she was almost dislodged by a Bludger and lost the ball – James ducked into position, catching the Quaffle with his fingertips – alright, time to score –

"Gryffindor ten, Slytherin zero." Danvey's usual gusto was absent; Hufflepuff were at the bottom of the table.

The match went on. Clarisse's determination was radiating in fierce waves as she sought the Snitch – her opponent was a slight Seeker called Jed Leonis. But James could not worry about Clarisse – his attention was on Patrick, Maria – and the Quaffle.

"Gryffindor seventy, Slytherin ninety," droned Danvey. "The Chasers are playing excellently today… great teamwork..."

Slytherin were _ahead_? James spun on his broom, breaking formation – Cassidy was shooting towards Gryffindor's three rings –

The distraction cost James dearly. Something wooden collided with his head, and as he lost consciousness, he spied Fred's horrified face.

**…**

"So then what happened?" James asked, settling against the pillow. He smiled at the swarm around his bed; Fred had left a while ago, still looking like a punctured balloon, even though James had assured his cousin that he didn't bear a grudge. The Gryffindor Qudditch team had been and gone, and Dominique had popped in to see whether James was awake – then rushed away to continue celebrating. The final margins had been in Ravenclaw's favour.

"Leonis got the Snitch," sniffed Lily. "Most people got distracted when, you know –"

"When I fell off my broom."

Albus straightened his glasses. "I'm glad Professor Longbottom had the presence of mind to summon your Supernova. Dad lost his Nimbus in almost the same way, and it hit the Whomping Willow."

"Really?" piped Lucy. "That's... quite awful, actually."

After a while the matron bustled through the wing, declaring that James needed rest. His family were ushered out, though James frowned at Albus, who stayed put. Once the footsteps in the corridor had faded, James asked, "How are you?"

"Me?" laughed Albus. "You're the one lying down – I'm fine."

James sighed. "What a way to lose." Then he sat up and said, "I've been neglecting you, haven't I?"

Albus stared.

"I've been thinking about it for a few days," continued James, glancing up at the smooth ceiling. "All this year you tried to talk to me, tried to ask me what was wrong – and I kept shutting you out. I'm sorry, Al."

"You don't need to apologise," came the quiet reply. Albus was surveying the floor; his fingers were tightening under the seat of his chair. "Tell me what's been on your mind."

James sighed. He did not know whether his little brother would understand – his little brother who was so brave and kind, and a much better example than himself. "It's… sometimes I wonder if I'll ever impress Dad. You're his favourite, you know."

"That's not true!" cried Albus.

"It is," said James firmly. "And that's okay."

Albus scowled. "Honestly – do you think you're furniture or something? James, look at me." The older boy complied; his brown irises met the green. "Do you remember what crybabies Lily and I used to be? The reason we got stronger was because of _you_."

"Sounds like I bullied you."

"A little bit, yeah." Albus' eyes were still slanted behind his glasses. "I don't know who you're trying to kid – Dad loves you so much – you're a lot more like him than you realise." When James blinked, Albus went on, "And you and Lily can make him laugh without even trying… he just _worries_ about me all the time."

Albus hung his head.

James laughed. "That's not true. If anyone worries Dad, it's Lily – even _Mum's_ lectured her for being a troublemaker." He needed something to do – James reached for a Chocolate Frog and opened it with his teeth. "Hard to believe that she'd start weeping every time you and I boarded the train…"

"Yeah." Albus smiled. "Everybody changes, I guess."

"I guess."

The brothers continued talking. The sky beyond the window brightened, as though the light was determined to ward off evening. With a twinge James remembered how many months of conversation he had so persistently avoided – and how much he had missed Albus. He felt guilty, ashamed of his unfounded envy. It was irrelevant that his eyes were brown and not green; it was unimportant that he was a Chaser, not a Seeker – he was his father's son, and nothing else mattered.

They were discussing James' lack of detentions when he asked, "You friends with Malfoy?"

Albus looked thoughtful. "Not exactly? He'll talk to me and Rose if there are no Slytherins around, but we've never hung out or anything. Why?"

"I don't know." James shrugged. "He seemed alright."

"Hmm." Albus tilted his head to one side. "I have a theory."

"Shoot."

"Maybe he's jealous of you."

James snorted.

"No, honestly," said Albus, "think about it. He said that stuff about not pleasing Dad, right? He's an only child… he probably feels the same pressure.

"Maybe he was angry because you were being a real recluse, hiding out in the Room of Requirement… lots of people respect you, James. Maybe Scorpius thinks that you don't… appreciate what you've got."

"Huh." James plumped his pillow then swung his feet out of bed. He had only accepted bed rest at the matron's insistence; he felt fine. After all, it had only been a slight bruise. "You really understand people, Al."

"Not really," replied Albus. "I just think too much."

As they left the hospital wing, James wondered if perhaps they all needed to lighten up.

Harry didn't love Albus more... he had just been giving his eldest son the stage...

**...**

Thistle Richworth squinted at James through a pair of thick spectacles. He fought the urge to fidget. After another minute, she placed a goblet on the table, announcing, "In your own time. I would like you to change the colour of this egg cup – what colour do you see?"

"Green?" answered James uncertainly.

"Alright. And what colour is your destination?"

James blurted, "Red!" He wanted to kick himself; there was a definite gleam in Thistle Richworth's eyes. Green and red opposed each other on the colour wheel – he was going to have a difficult time.

"_Multicorfors_," murmured James, tapping the table.

He frowned, keeping his wand trained on the egg cup... was it even changing? Great – the wood was becoming turquoise… no, wait... the green was being displaced... now the egg cup was blushing...

James exhaled. The green egg cup was red.

The cup was replaced by a squirrel. At Thistle Richworth's request, James murmured, "_Engorgio_." The woodland animal grew to the size of a small cupboard. Then he made a set of cutlery tap dance and finished the exam by levitating a quill.

Thistle Richworth proclaimed, "You're free to go."

James sauntered from the hall, running a hand through his hair.

**...**

"And so ends another school year," droned Lorcan Scamander in his gloomy voice. He handed the latest edition of _The Quibbler_ to Louis, then faced James. "Do you expect you've done well enough to remain for the NEWTs?"

James looked thoughtful. "Hope so. Patrick's the one who should be worried, really."

"Hey!"

Lily chirped, "Is it _true_ that you got undiluted Bubotuber Pus over your examiner during Herbology"

"Don't remind me," groaned James and Patrick in unison.

Everyone was more cramped than usual. Dominique had been challenged to a chess match by Hugo and Fred, and to the boys' annoyance, was proving to be very good. As Dominique crept closer and closer to checkmate, Roxanne sighed and closed her book, taking pity on her male cousins – she shifted a bishop and, from there, the tide of the game took a considerable turn.

The compartment door slid open, and Molly and Rose marched in, apparently dragging someone between them. There was a complete silence when the passengers saw the victim, interrupted only by the sound of the train rattling along the tracks.

"Hey," said James awkwardly. Malfoy gave a stiff, reciprocating nod – Albus grinned, and noise exploded once more.

They finally arrived at King's Cross station, all making summer plans. James rolled his trunk and Robbie's cage along the platform, looking round at Lily and Albus to hurry up. His brother obliged, but they had to drag Lily away from Lysander, who had been showing her a diagram of a Knuckled Rosk-Bubbler.

Harry was alone at the ticket barrier, waiting for his three children with a smile. Before anything was said, James strode forward and gave his father a brief hug. He saw something flicker in Harry's green eyes.

Understanding.


	8. Robbie's Reconnaissance

Thank you all for your support. The next chapter's the finale!

* * *

><p>Chapter Eight<p>

**Robbie's Reconnaissance**

* * *

><p>The night was deep. A cool breeze stroked James' skin as he watched the blistered full moon... it was so soothing, so – <em>peaceful<em>.

"Hey. Mind if I join you?"

"Pull up a chair," replied James. With a slight thud Teddy flopped down on the yellowing grass and swore – he had landed on a sharp stone.

With a slightly sheepish expression, James said without preamble, "It's been a hard year." Teddy had long been one of James' best confidantes: he was at that transitioning age – he wasn't condescending, like most adults, but he wasn't immature, like most children. "In some ways, I'm relieved to be back."

Teddy sighed. "I know what you mean. Every so often I really miss this garden."

"Which is when you turn up for dinner."

"That's not the only time," said Teddy lightly, poking James. "I also miss _you_ guys."

James hesitated, counting the whirling scents. Earlier that night, a distant neighbour had set off fireworks. The aroma of dancing smoke lingered, even though the lights had extinguished themselves many hours ago. "Are... you lonely?"

There was a pause. Teddy threw aside the stone that had jabbed his hand. "Not often," he eventually relented. "But... full moons make me think of Dad."

From the accounts of their elders, Remus Lupin sounded great, the best sort of friend someone could have. It hadn't mattered to his friends, James Potter and Sirius Black, that their fellow Gryffindor was a werewolf. Occasionally, James had private reservations that he and Teddy were named after dead men – people they would never meet.

"We've got it easy," murmured Teddy. "Everyone before us grew up during a war… we worry about tiny things like school and work… I get so angry at myself when I start whining; Mum was an Auror and Dad was an outcast – they had to fight for everything, you know? And," he gulped, "I have Grandmother, and Harry too. I'm _privileged_."

James crossed his ankles. "Dad tells you a lot, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," Teddy answered, "because I ask. I bet there's so much that Harry's dying to tell you – but you can act so distant that he doesn't know what to say."

"What kind of things?"

Teddy stretched. The bones in his neck clicked. By the gleaming moonlight, his irises appeared silver. "Like about your granddad, and his best friend. You know what they did when they found out my father was a werewolf?"

James shook his head.

"They became Animagi." There was a remote pride in Teddy's voice; his chest was swelling. "They made sure that my dad was never alone… they kept him company when most people would have abandoned him. Sirius turned into this gigantic dog, and James – he became a stag."

The younger boy started. "That's Dad's Patronus…"

Laughing, Teddy stuck his hands in his pockets and stood up. He moved with resolute confidence, one of his many traits that James had always admired. "Harry and Ginny didn't name you after strangers. They named you after people they loved."

Teddy strolled back into the house. James stayed where he was. He had a lot to think about.

**...**

"Y-you're up early," Harry yawned, slumping down at the kitchen table. James jumped up, setting about making breakfast.

"Results," he said, buttering a slice of toast. He pushed the plate of food towards his father who accepted it gratefully, thanking his son. James sat down opposite Harry. "I don't know where to begin. I added Burklap Soot to my draught instead of Rilevye drops... and I wrote in _English_ during Ancient Runes..."

"Hermione always went through every exam after we were done. It used to make Ron sick."

James glanced across at his father. "How were your OWLs?" he asked casually, leaning back in his chair.

"Hmm?" Harry took a sip of coffee, thinking back. "I know I failed History of Magic, definitely," he mused. "And Divination. Apart from that, I got an O in Defence Against the Dark Arts. The others were here and there... I don't really remember."

"Uh..." James debated how to phrase his next question – it seemed so unlikely that his father would know. But Harry's eyes flickered with learned patience, and James reasoned that he may as well ask. "You know... granddad? Was he smart?"

"Yeah," Harry said gloomily. "I got the impression that Dad and Sirius didn't need to study at all – they just goofed around while Remus was trying to read."

James grinned. "That's pretty annoying."

Harry nodded. "I agree."

They passed the morning discussing Quidditch. Harry gently suggested that James eat something, but the boy declined. Ginny trooped in at half past eight, looking dishevelled as she pointed her wand at the kettle; Albus appeared a little later, and finally, Lily hopped into the kitchen, hoisting herself up on the counter to reach the cereal.

He loved that his family were _there_, supporting him – but at the same time James could barely stand their presence; dense pressure weighed on the room, thinly veiled by jokes about the Chudley Cannons. Yet, he did not want to be alone. He groaned inwardly, reliving all his stupid answers, bemoaning the essay paragraph he had skipped because he could not recall a particular incantation…

Then Ginny called: "It's here." She opened the back door then began filling a bowl with water.

James studied the dark speck drawing closer and closer – it assumed an owl's shape – the bird crossed the threshold and clicked its beak, allowing James to prise the scroll from its foot. Then it hooted at Ginny appreciatively, burrowing into the food and water.

Refusing to let his eyes travel down the parchment too quickly, James stood to one side.

_ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS_

Pass Grades:

Outstanding (O)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades:

Poor (P)

Dreadful (D)

Troll (T)

_JAMES SIRIUS POTTER HAS ACHIEVED:_

Astronomy – O

Care of Magical Creatures – E

Charms – E

Defence Against the Dark Arts – O

Herbology – A

History of Magic – D

Potions – A

Study of Ancient Runes – D

Transfiguration – E

"How did you do?" probed Ginny.

James roared, hurling the parchment in the air – he threw his arms around his mother's neck – for the next ten minutes everyone whooped and cheered; he chuckled, "Can't believe I escaped a T – must have got lucky!"

When Ginny was busy scribbling a note to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, Harry dragged his son aside. "You didn't _get lucky_, did you?"

James blinked a few times. "No, of course not!" he cried, flushing. "That was for something completely different – a girl – I would never –"

"Okay," interjected Harry, "I believe you."

James leant against the banister. His heart was trembling.

"Anyway," Harry continued, patting James' shoulder, "I'm proud of you. You've done brilliantly. I didn't know that you were so good at Astronomy!"

**...**

As July filtered to an end, James awoke to a strange, scrabbling sound. With a great effort he lifted his head, staring at the window – Robbie's silhouette was taking flight. Hoping that his owl wouldn't come home with another dead mouse, the boy promptly fell asleep.

He next stirred when his room was being filled by a tranquil glow – the sun was rising. Yawning, he rolled out of bed and padded over to his desk. For the next twenty minutes, James stood with his arms folded, observing the sky shift from colour to colour.

His stomach rumbled. James plodded downstairs, preparing to raid the kitchen. To his surprise, he discovered someone opening the back door.

"Dad? What are you doing?"

Harry raised his palms. "Early bird," he grinned. "Conditions are good – I was going out. Join me?"

James nodded eagerly and rushed to fetch his Supernova.

As they took turns dashing after the Snitch, James could not help but beam at his father's excellent reflexes. Harry commended James' catching skills. Finally, when the pair were hindered by their protesting stomachs, they touched back down, agreeing to feast on whatever they could find.

James was halfway through describing the singing armour when they heard a dull _tap-tap_. He looked up – to his surprise, Robbie was at the door – the boy let his owl inside, wondering if he had closed his bedroom window.

"He's got mail," Harry noted.

James was staring at his exhausted owl. "Go rest up," he advised, massaging Robbie's head. The owl squawked and was airborne – he held out one shaking claw; James took the envelope and Robbie, who apparently felt that his job was done, shot from the kitchen.

Curious, James looked down. It was blank apart from his name, printed in capital letters. With a glance at Harry, he slid one nail under the flap – it gave way easily, and James shook out the page inside.

He recognised that large, untidy penmanship.

_James,_

_I had the scare of my life when the owl flew in. I was about to call Dad but then the owl dropped one of those coins you showed me. Then I finally remembered what you said about owls sending letters and... yeah. It took me a while._

_How are you James? It's been so long since I last saw you or even wrote to you. I was so angry that you yelled at me. For a little while, I barely cared that we were fighting. _

_But then, I considered what you said... you were right. I was being horrible. I understand why you were mad._

_I swear I haven't told anyone your secret, not a soul. I might have been lousy towards you but I never said anything, not to my parents or my friends – nobody. Actually, I've been thinking about this for a while so it's good that the owl showed up. I've made a choice._

_James, I don't mind forgetting your secret. That was when I showed my ugly side, right? At Easter? If it makes you feel better and lets us be friends again, I'm okay with them erasing everything you told me._

_Just promise that they wouldn't make me forget YOU. I'll forget your secret, but… you're too important to me. _

_Tell me what you think, okay?_

_I miss you so much. _

The words washed over James as he steadily ignored his congealing breakfast. _Memories are precious_… he could not describe the plummeting feeling in his chest, as though his ribs were fragmenting…

When Harry moved to take the letter, James handed it over. He felt numb as he watched his father study the page, absorbing the words – then Harry finished reading.

"What's your plan?"

James said, "I'll… get the Knight Bus."

Harry shook his head. "No," he said firmly.

Then tension in James stomach tangled; Harry knew that James had broken wizarding law – he was in for his biggest scolding yet.

"Dad –"

Harry held up one hand. "Sometimes," Harry announced loudly, "you have to make an impression. Forget the Knight Bus."

"I need to go see her..."

"I know," shrugged Harry. There was a peculiar gleam in his eye. "But you're going to do this in _style_."


	9. Triumph

Thank you to TeamGredandForge, who inspired me to fix my muddled ideas. Thank you all for supporting this tale. It's been a delight writing for you. I hope you drop by again for more stories.

* * *

><p>Chapter Nine<p>

**Triumph**

* * *

><p><strong>"<strong>But what," James protested as Harry threw him two sets of goggles and began rummaging through a large cardboard box, "if I _die_?"

"You won't," Harry shrugged. He was shifting something heavy. "Where did I put that… anyway, let's review. The white button?"

"Will make me invisible."

"Good. The red button?"

"Is for emergencies. It's your cue to come… save me."

Harry straightened at last and passed James a pair of helmets. "Right," he nodded. "You've got a good sense of direction, so you'll be fine. Invite her for dinner, alright?"

James nodded mechanically, hoping that he would make it back, let alone in time to eat. He slid a helmet onto his head, then stared at the second one. Horrified, he glanced at Harry, who smiled; groaning, James dropped the second helmet into a compartment. He made a few last adjustments then, following his father's instruction, threw his foot down on the kick starter, mounting the humming motorbike. He looked back, pleading, "Won't your boss have your _head_ for this?"

"What Kingsley doesn't know won't hurt him," said Harry cheerfully. "He knows about the bike. It used to belong to Sirius, so in a way… you were meant to use it, someday. Take care, son."

"Sure," murmured James. The bike was grumbling impatiently. "Off I go…"

Harry rolled his eyes and pointed his wand at the motorbike. "If you don't get moving," he warned, "I'll make you."

Cursing his father, James inhaled. He numbly pressed his thumb on the white button, and from Harry's satisfied expression, knew that he had disappeared. The boy leant forward –

And he was up! This was nothing like a broom – he'd never had a single outing on the motorbike – the monster roared and James cringed; being invisible didn't make a difference to _sound_ –

He was gliding. Sparing a half-second to glance over his shoulder, he glimpsed his waving father – then James faced forward, gritting his teeth. He was flying steadily, and though there was no early morning breeze, he felt strangely comfortable. After a while, he reasoned that, actually, it was no different to being on his Supernova. James let out a triumphant whoop – Harry was right, this was _brilliant_ –

"Thanks Sirius," James chuckled, "I owe you."

The engine returned to its casual whirr. Far, far below James, the countryside was expanding, becoming verdant hills and fields. He spied a glittering river and huge areas where Muggle cranes had scooped up chunks of land, leaving earthy dunes. The morning grew brighter; the sun was rising higher and higher. James was perspiring; he had been flying for at least an hour.

Then the sweeping perimeter of a familiar town came into view. James swallowed, directing the motorbike; it hissed – he was descending –

The motorbike coughed.

"No," groaned James, "don't you dare…"

The asphalt was rocketing up; he was going too fast – he squeezed on the lever and – too late! James twisted his body, swearing. The bike swerved. He was –

_Crash_.

He landed at the base of a garage door. James lay still for a moment, breathing in the rusted metal, praying that his bones weren't broken. The last time he had felt so bad was during a brawl with the Whomping Willow.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Well. The _bike_ was fine. He sat up: the Disillusionment Charm had broken, but perhaps (after so many decades of reckless owners) it had developed a magical sentience – it had skidded to a halt of its own accord.

Sirius' old motorbike knew how to stay out of trouble.

"Lesson one," James said aloud, peeling off the helmet and goggles, "_parking_." He slipped the key from the ignition, pocketing it. Then he prodded the white button: the bike turned invisible once more. James added, "Stay safe." He checked an address on an envelope and went on his way. He knew these winding streets.

**…**

He rang the doorbell. He shifted his weight; he could hear movement – someone was _definitely_ home. Without warning the door was flung open. He twitched.

"_Finally_! I can't decide – oh! OH!" She pressed her hands to her flushing face. "_James_!"

"Hey…" he trailed. "Uh. Can I come in?"

She shuffled backwards into the hallway. With a deep breath James followed, closing the door behind him with one foot. Then he looked at the girl.

She was wearing a long, yellow dress; there were multiple folds in the skirt and it was studded with silver. Her long hair spiralled into tendrils and a yellow headband sat above her fringe.

"I… found something for prom." She gestured, and rushed, "This is basically a dress rehearsal; my friend was supposed to come by and help me decide which earrings to wear, except, you know, her room is a dump apparently, and she's under house arrest till it's tidy, so I thought that she was free at last and it's – _you_." She blinked, but her eyes did not lose their shine. "James – I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

"Don't apologise," he said quietly. "Let's just forget about it, okay?"

Her shoulders were shaking. "So that _was_ your owl?"

"Yeah."

She twisted her hair around one finger. "I guess… you're here to…"

James frowned. The journey had been long – it had taken so much effort to come here – he had completely forgotten about her compromise… "No, not at all. I was shocked, honestly; I know what memories mean to you." He ran a hand through his damp hair. "I came here to see you," he continued, "and… to invite you to dinner."

Her arms were flat against her sides. "You mean it?"

"I mean it."

She visibly brightened; James felt a twinge in his chest. "In that case," she said hurriedly, "I'll go change –"

And she ran upstairs, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

James loitered in the hallway. There was a wooden shoe cupboard and a pile of newspapers in one corner; on his left, a door led to the kitchen while on his right, another led to the living room. After a minute he pushed the living room door – a woman with wispy hair was sitting on the sofa; with a start, James realised that _this_ was the stern examiner.

"Hi," announced James awkwardly.

"Hello," she replied, pressing the remote control so that the television suddenly silenced, "I don't believe we've met."

"I'm James," he said, taking a few steps further into the room. "James Sirius Potter."

"I see."

What did_ that _mean? "Uh," James was suddenly abashed by his grimy appearance – he rushed, "if it's alright with you, my parents –"

"Yes, yes," she waved her hand. "It's fine with me. Enjoy dinner."

"Thank you."

They conversed pleasantly. James told her that he attended a boarding school in the north; she nodded her approval. Feet thundered down the stairs ("Always so ladylike, my daughter," the woman grumbled). The door crashed open.

"Aha," she laughed, "you've met!"

Ten minutes later they said their goodbyes; she promised to call home. As they strode down the garden path, she beamed. "How are we going to your house? Flying carpet?"

James shook his head. "Those were outlawed last century. This is a surprise."

They rounded a street, stopping in front of the line of old garages. She peered around, searching for anything unusual. Then she stared at James, who indicated, "This way."

He led her towards the invisible motorbike, appearing to run his hands through thin air. She waited patiently – until James poked the white button and the vehicle snapped into view – she gasped, James grinned.

"A motorbike?" She slowly circled it. "You're too young for a license, surely?"

"Probably," James shrugged. "This… is a _flying_ motorbike."

She gazed at him with such open admiration that James vowed never to doubt Harry's judgement again.

**…**

Their elbows were yanked upon entering the house – James glowered but Albus shot him a fearful glance; they were ushered into another room. The girl looked between the two brothers curiously as Albus advised, "Be careful."

"Why?"

A second later, James' question was answered.

"You're about to become the Man Who Died! You, Harry James Potter, are getting out _this instant_ and finding our son!"

"He's fine, Ginny! If he was in trouble –"

"IF I HEAR ONE MORE WORD –"

Lily shrieked, "He's back! I heard the front door!"

Silence. James waited anxiously, watching as Ginny stalked into the living room, murderous resolve still scribbled across her features. Lily hovered in the background, and, slightly further behind, Harry repaired his glasses.

"Hi," James greeted faintly.

Ginny raked her eyes over her son. The girl strode forward, introducing herself. Ginny took her extended hand, replying, "Ginevra Potter."

Harry said, "She's staying for dinner."

"Lovely," Ginny smiled. Then she scowled at James. "Where is it?"

"Outside."

With another smile at the teenagers, Ginny turned on her heel and marched from the room – she grabbed Harry's ear and dragged him along. When the front door slammed shut, there was a silence, broken by Albus exhaling audibly.

"Okay," Lily folded her arms, "who're _you_?"

"Me?" The girl blinked. "I'm –"

Lily sniffed imperiously, cutting her off.

"This is your little sister?" The girl glanced at James. "She looks tough."

Placing her hands on her hips, Lily declared, "I _am_ tough."

James said gloomily, "I don't know what got into her when she started at Hogwarts. She used to be really cute – never picked a fight – hey, what?"

The girl had flicked Lily's forehead. Looking momentarily startled, Lily growled, "Is that a challenge?"

"You bet!" The girl assumed her full height, smirking. "Name the sport – I'll take you on!"

"Quidditch," said Lily immediately.

"That's hardly fair," James interrupted hastily. "It's played on broomsticks," he said, seeing her questioning look. "And –"

Albus was moving stealthily, as though to slide from the room. But Lily was too quick – she seized her brother's wrist, "_You_ can be on _her_ team. I'm with James."

"I was..." Under Lily's burning glare, Albus faltered. "Fine," he muttered.

"He's more like a handicap," scoffed James. "That's not fair either."

"Hey!"

While Albus tried to regale the group with tales of his sporting prowess, Harry and Ginny returned. Harry nodded; the bike was in working order. Frustrated, Lily cried, "_Fine_! Boys versus girls! Mum's on our team!"

"Excellent – we have the Seeker himself," drawled James. "Assume battle positions!"

The girl glowered at Lily. "This alliance is only a temporary. Once we beat _them_, it's war."

"I wouldn't want it any other way," said Lily loftily.

"Fine, fine," agreed Ginny. "Let's get this show on the road... what're we playing?"

They trooped outside. Summer heat dripped through the air. But these temperatures weren't overwhelming, James thought as he looked over at the girl, whose dark eyes were lined with competitive determination... this weather was soothing.

With a wave of his wand, Harry conjured a football and began detailing the Muggle sport.

**…**

Later that evening, Harry disappeared to organise a Portkey; Ginny said something about finishing an article and Lily and Albus were ordered to get on with their homework. James and the girl returned to the garden, discussing the last few months.

Then, when Harry called their names, she took James' fingers and pointed at the clear sky. Diamond swirls had congregated in the dark expanse; James inhaled sharply, suddenly recalling that he had read, somewhere, that stars could sing.

"Look," she said, "Pegasus."

She had identified the bright, summer constellation. Nowadays he knew the brilliant shine of space; he had spent so many nights studying the skies, so many days poring over textbooks and charts. They were almost painfully beautiful, sketched in intricate arrangements…

"I like spring," he murmured. "You can see Monoceros."

She smiled. "It's right by Leo."


End file.
